


For Hermione

by Grace_28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Muggles), -_- not, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Captive Draco Malfoy, Feminine Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Innocent Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Multiple, Revenge, Viking Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_28/pseuds/Grace_28
Summary: When he was fourteen, Harry swore on Sirius’s deathbed that he’d watch out for his best friends, Hermione and Ron. Swore it to his dying godfather, plus to the memory of his deceased mother and father, that he’d watch out for them. And, for many years, Harry did just that.When misplaced trust leads to Hermione returning home with bruises and tattered clothes, Harry vowed revenge on Lucius Malfoy of Slytherin.It was just convenient that he had a son Harry's age.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 24
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up:
> 
> I've rewritten this from an earlier draft (which I'd written two weeks ago for an English short story assignment) so please ignore any gender pronoun mistakes! I think I caught all of them so it doesn't distract you though! Thank you for reading this message and I hope you enjoy! Oh, and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Update : (I'll be doing my best to fix them all up!)

When he was fourteen, Harry swore on Sirius’s deathbed that he’d watch out for his best friends, Hermione and Ron. Swore it to his dying godfather, plus to the memory of his deceased mother and father, that he’d watch out for them. And, for many years, Harry did just that. He kept both of them from the same Viking lifestyle that made his lineage rich but stole away his parents’ lives. He kept them from the very same one that he was so skilled at and that allowed him the resources to keep their beloved port safe.

So when Hermione took an interest in becoming a scholar, Harry encouraged her wholeheartedly, knowing that knowledge and books were far safer than raids. And, after years of relentless searching, he found a brilliant merchant interested in taking on a protégé. Someone with wealth and resources that would agree to further Hermione’s education and to help establish herself as a librarian or merchant or whatever trade she fancied afterwards.

Someone by the name of Lucius Malfoy.

Harry cursed the name now, but when he first met the man, he seemed like the perfect fit for Hermione. Rich and well-respected, Lucius had taken a liking to Hermione early on. If Harry had just stayed longer… 

Months after being enthused into Lucius’s care, Hermione returned to their port. Bruises she wouldn't explain tainted her precious skin, her dirty clothes ripped and tattered, and her body was far much leaner than Harry could remember seeing. And, though Hermione wouldn't speak a word of it, the evidence had been glaring right back at him.

Lucius hurt his precious best friend, and Harry was going to make him suffer the consequences.

Luckily, as a Viking, it was easy enough to start.

Lucius was a wealthy merchant, meaning that he should have a whole fleet of ships for trade, and Harry took it upon himself to take his crew and pick those ships off one by one. He took no prisoners, showed no mercy, envisioning that it was Lucius’s head he was basking in every time he raised his sword. It’d earned him the title ‘Heartless’. Admittedly, Harry enjoyed the unconventional title, but it did little to assuage his rage.

After all, what was the point of a name if it didn’t bring him closer to revenge?

And then… after months of hacking away at Lucius’s only symbol for his vast fortune, there came forth information about a man.

Lucius’s son, a man a little older than the age Hermione was when she first went to stay with Lucius. Though Lucius cared very little for his family members as individuals— Harry can tell just by the way that Hermione, a scholar who Lucius reigned in money from, returned— he obviously cared deeply for his family name. Any tainting to his son would be a twist of a stab wound to Lucius himself.

With that, Harry decided what his ultimate plan would be.

He would kidnap this man— perhaps, gain his admiration just as Lucifer did with Hermione. He’d wrap this boy so thoroughly around his pinky, the boy wouldn’t even know which way was up and which way was down. And then, once he’d fully succumbed to Harry, he’d cast him out. Abandon him as publicly as he could and let the whole world see for themselves how horribly his fall from grace would be; and once he’s no longer the virtuous and dutiful son, the boy would bring shame not only to himself but to Lucius as well.

Harry rallied up his men.


	2. Chapter 2

The wind shouted a warning of an oncoming storm.

Not that such passing squalls were uncommon in Slytherin, but Draco deemed it appropriate for his current mood. He hated visiting this pathetic cemetery at the edges of town, and he hated that he had to.

He stood between parallel lines of gravestones, having found one that marks his wife’s grave. It had already been weathered with age despite being only a few months old— being so close to the ocean spray caked it with sand and salt wore the stone away prematurely— and Draco wondered whether or not he should be tending to it. He eventually decided against it though; Astoria may have been his wife, but he owed her no favors. If he didn’t when he was alive, then he certainly didn’t owe her when she was dead. She had been horrible to him, and she certainly deserved none of his awfully faked affection now thathewas gone.

Here he stood: a man married at eighteen, a widower at nineteen, and completely at the mercy of his father once more.

His father, ‘Lucius’ as Draco preferred to refer to him as, was a cruel man. Not that many villagers knew him as such. They saw him as the merchant responsible for Slytherin’s flourishing, the man who’d generously taken guardianship of his illegitimate son, the man who took in young men and women, nourished their talents, and sent them back into the world far more capable than they would have been without him. And, even worse, the man who gave lavishly to his church and community and was the model citizen they deemed him to be.

That was not Draco’s experience with Lucius.

Sure, Lucius was wealthy and had raised Draco when his mother fell deathly ill, but he wasn’t by any means gentle. He never laid a hand on him. But Lucius never spared him a gentle word or a moment’s consideration either. Draco had always felt more like a pet or a trophy than a son.

And, not to mention his marriage with Astoria.

Draco shivered, remembering how Lucius had more or less auctioned him off to the nearest wealthy family. He almost instantly became the fifth in a long line of young husbands Astoria had kept and then lost in tragic (suspicious) circumstances. It took him only one day to realize why: he’d been hit and beaten and burned on their wedding night, hurt in all the ways Draco feared from his father but never actually had to endure.

The only reason Draco had outlived his wife is because of Lucius’s pathetic so-called protection. When he saw the wounds on his son’s skin, he’d wrinkled his nose in distaste and taken Astoria aside. At first, Draco thought that it was some sort of tender regard for him that had caused his father to intervene. It proved not to be the case. Her abus needn’t stop, but it was to never happen in public and never to leave a visible mark. If Draco so much as winced as he sat down, Lucius promised retribution.

And why was that?

Because Draco was his son. He was a member, as well as the only living heir of the Malfoy line, and a mark against anyone who bore that name was a mark against Lucius’s name. Honestly, Draco would’ve expected for Lucius to act the same way if his horse was whipped a little too violently.

Astoria’s death had meant the prospect of freedom for a few days. But now, he found himself locked back in his silky cage, kept in Lucius’s keep like a meager lamb. His only escape was when he went to pay respects to his wife’s grave. 

Draco spat on the dirt, knowing that was far more respect than she deserved.

“I’m glad you’re dead,” Draco whispered with a dark scowl. It was sacrilegious to speak so ill of the dead, so he kept his voice down as he continued with his true thoughts. “You killed your other husbands as you would have killed me. I hope you’re rotting in the darkest pits of Hell.”

Abruptly, Draco was cut off from saying anymore. Church bells rang loudly, clamouring over the sound of the roaring waves. A brief warning of an attack, and for everyone to seek shelter or a weapon.

He froze.

Draco didn’t know how to fight, and he’s too far away to be capable of finding a place to hide. Of course, it was unlikely for anyone to search the cemetery if they were seeking riches or prisoners so he should be safe—

“Down here!”

Rats.

Half a dozen Vikings descended the bluffs and headed straight for him. There was no doubting their intentions, but Draco was barely able to force his legs to work. With very wobbly legs, he sprinted back to the village. Perhaps, if he got close enough, he could cry out for help and someone would graciously rescue him under the guise that this would grant them good favor with Lucius.

That shred of hope died quickly.

His feet were knocked out from underneath him, and Draco experienced a profound sense of vertigo when he was grabbed before he even hit the ground and hefted over broad shoulders. He struggled weakly, but it did nothing to loosen the iron grip around him as he was whisked away to the shore. A firm grip was kept on him as he’s thrown onto a nearly empty rowboat, and they pushed off of him as he was whisked away towards a ship. They ignored him completely once they hit deeper waters. And Draco briefly considered jumping overboard and trying to get away, but the waves were too choppy with the impending storm and he hadn’t practiced the art of swimming in quite a while.

With a resigned sigh, he settled in and waited to see what the Vikings had in store for him. 

He hoped it’s not burning at a firestake or eating him alive.

The man who’d manhandled him stands at the end of the board and blew into a large horn, calling the other Vikings to the ship. Draco watched with a shred of fascination as other groups appeared on the shore and followed them back. Smoke plumes rose from the village, but fewer than Draco might have feared. He prayed nobody was seriously hurt. And he prayed that nobody else was taken captive.

When they drew alongside the Viking ship, Draco was hefted on board. The bearded man, who was apparently his keeper, brought him up to the ship’s prow and tied him to it. It’s a curious prow at that. Instead of a dragon’s head or some other ferocious beast, it’s a deer with a long, curved horn. The craftsman responsible for it obviously meant for it to look fierce, but there’s something almost friendly about it. 

Draco set his eyes on it. Perhaps, it would offer him strength and courage.

Soon the other Vikings arrived and they immediately set off— a crew of no more than twenty takes their places at the long rows of benches lining the ship and begins to row. A man, his armor more stylishly designed than the others, confidently strided towards where Draco waited. He was pushed onto his knees as the man arrived in front of him, towering over him and giving Draco an appraising look.

“Well. He’s a gorgeous one, isn’t he?” the man asked with a wink.

The crew laughed but kept working. Clearly, this man was in charge, the captain or leader or whatever title the Vikings gave to a person such as she.

“Put him in my cabin. I’ll be there soon.”

And just like that, Draco found himself forced back onto his feet and led below deck. There was barely any room down here, only two doors and he suspected the other was for storage. He was led through the small door, having to stoop to enter and not even able to stand up straight once inside, and tied to a hook on the far wall.

Only once he’s alone did he allow himself to take in the cabin. There were no windows, only a small mattress pushed against one wall and a chest against another. The bed took up most of the space,leaving only a small aile left to walk from one end of the room to the other. There were no other furnishings, no decorations, nothing to suggest this was space belonging to any one person in particular. Only a small lantern on the wall provided any light at all, the candle flickering ominously with each sway of the ship.

There was nothing for Draco to do but sit and wait. His bindings had little give— he couldn’t even reach the bed and sit on it— and he didn’t see the point in trying to free himself. He’d seen the look of men and women on deck. He knew that they’d easily outpower him and that he could never work a rowboat on his own. 

Escape was impossible and any attempt was likely to get him beaten or killed. It was better if he waited.

No more than half an hour passed before Draco heard footsteps approaching. He flinched when the door opened and the light from outside was blocked by the man's silhouette. Before Draco could decide what to do, the man stood before him.

“Are your wrists okay?” he asked. His voice was surprisingly gentle as he unbinded Draco and rubbed at the raw skin to help the blood flow back into it. “Sorry about that. Dean gets a bit carried away. I told him to take it easy on you— that you’d be frightened— but he was worried we’d get overtaken before getting back to the ship.” When Draco said nothing to acknowledge him, the man sighed and rubbed his eyes, looking nothing if not apologetic. “Not that’s any excuse for hurting you.”

“My wrists are alright,” Draco croaked. He swallowed, trying to soothe his dry throat, and tried again. “Though I’d like to know why I’ve been kidnapped.”

Responding with his silence, the man pulled away.

Draco, who’s not felt such a gentle touch since his mother died, felt bereft of the loss of contact. He immediately scolded himself for thinking such a thing. This man was a Viking. This man kidnapped him. This man didn’t have him here in his cabin to be his guest.

“Would you like some dinner?”

Or perhaps he did.

“What?”

The man produced some cheese and bread, both well on their way to going stale but at least not moldy, and some fruits. He reclined on the bed, legs spread out to emphasize the slight bow to them, and started eating. His sudden question was so unexpected that Draco missed the next few words.

“What?”

“I said you’re probably hungry after the ordeal you’ve had today. Have some dinner. Sorry I don’t have more to offer, but we’re three days at sea and the fish haven’t been biting. Not that we’re much good as fishermen, but still.” He held out a wedge of cheese to Draco. “Name’s Harry, by the way.”

Draco didn’t want to accept it, but his treacherous stomach growled and he reluctantly took the cheese. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…?”

“Draco.”

“Draco. Please—” Harry gestured to the empty side of the bed— “join me.”

Draco hesitated.

He reminded himself again that Harry is a Viking, an obviously dangerous one if he’s the commander of this ship. But, Draco knows, if Harry meant him any harm, he could have easily done it by now. Seeing no reason to make himself uncomfortable simply to be stubborn, he sat at the very edge of the bed and nibbled at his block of cheese. It wasn’t terrible, but it’s not nearly as good as what Lucius’s cook usually prepared.

Thinking of Lucius right now didn’t do anything to ease his nerves. Being at his father’s mercy was awful, always waiting for him to marry him off to the next person willing to pay the right price. But, Draco was far from thinking it would be any better with these Vikings. Despite Harry’s pleasing looks and hospitality, Draco had no idea what he had planned for him.

“What do you want with me?”

Ignoring the question, Harry leant in and brushed a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear. “You have lovely eyes.”

Draco flushed but didn’t allow himself to be distracted. “Your men kidnapped me. You’re holding me prisoner as you said away from my home. What do you want with me?”

Harry sighed and leant back against the wall. “I’m looking for a new lover.”

That’s… blunt.

And not as unappealing a prospect as it should be.

“Do I get a say in this?” Draco asked, grip tightening. He’s only vaguely afraid that his cheese might explode by how tightly he was gripping it. But he was mainly focused on the fact that he’s never known anything in his life but being forced into situations he didn’t care much for. So soon after being free of Astoria, here he was again. Trapped against his will.

“Whoa. Calm down.” Harry put his hands up to placate him. “My crew picked you because you’re my type, but I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to. It’s an offer, one you’re free to turn down or accept whenever you want.”

“So… I can leave if I want to? Go back home?”

Harry eyed him curiously. “You want to go back?”

Did he?

His village meant safety from Harry and the other Vikings, but it also guaranteed that he’d end up back in Lucius’s clutches and likely in another marriage that, at best, will be loveless and, at worst… 

Remembering Astoria, Draco shivered. 

He knew what life at home would be like; what Harry offered was a mystery. And Draco wanted a chance of happiness, however slim, and recognizes that he’s not about to find it in Slytherin.

“No,” Draco admitted, “I don’t want to go back.”

“Good.” Harry gathered up the remaining food and put it back in the chest. Wiping his hands on his britches, he looked down at Draco with a smile. “Lover or not, I’d like to keep you around. It gets lonely back home by myself, and a companion would be perfect.”

He brought off his leather armor and shirt. Draco forced himself to look away. It’s only common decency to not stare after all. Harry silently kicked off his boots and crawled into the bed.

“What are you doing?” Draco yelped and jumped up.

Harry ignored him and instead pulled one of the fur blankets around him. Once satisfied, he held out one open end. “Coming?” 

“With you?”

How scandalous.

Draco had only ever shared a bed with Astoria, but even that had been no more than a handful of times. Astoria’s interest in him had manifested in many ways, but few had been sexual or friendly. He preferred to sleep alone, and Draco had been internally grateful for that. 

So the prospect of finding himself a new bed partner wasn’t alluring, even if Harry seemed much kinder than Astoria ever had.

“It’s either that or the floor,” came the reply.

Draco looked at the bed and, truly, calling it a ‘bed’ was generous. It was a thin mattress made entirely of straw that’s covered in furs in an attempt to soften it, a small frame to keep it in place, and no pillows. Then Draco looked at the small floor space between the bed and the chest, noticing the splinters on the wood and the small dip where a plank bowed. Clearly, the bed was the more comfortable option.

“Are there no other beds on the ship?”

“Not really. I’m sure the guys could help you find some furs for you to use if you’d rather sleep with them on deck. Though, I can’t guarantee they’ll leave you alone. A pretty boy like you'll attract some attention, and you might end up with a bedfellow who’s not as polite and respectful as I am.”

Worrying his bottom lips between his teeth, Draco considered his options. The floor, certainly, was not an option and, as much as he hated the thought of sleeping next to another person who had the potential to kill him in his sleep, Draco felt much safer here than exploring the ship and hoping everyone would leave him alone. With a sigh, he gave in and wiggled under the fur next to Harry.

Harry rewarded him with a smile, made sure that Draco had enough blanket covering him, and then turned over to face the wall and went to sleep. 

Harry’s back was littered with scars, and the last thought Draco had before succumbing to the sudden wave of exhaustion was that Harry was rather kind for a man who the world hadn’t been very kind to.

* * *

The rest of the short voyage, Draco either hid inside Harry’s cabin or behind him on deck. The crew stayed just as fearsome as before, but they paid him little mind. Every night, Draco was filled with a mix of dread and anticipation as he waited under the covers for Harry. And every night, Harry was a perfect gentleman who kept his hands to himself and stayed on his side of the small mattress.

Which was wonderful, of course.

This was what Draco wanted.

Except, the short trip tested his resolve over and over again. Harry was so genuinely curious about Draco and his life, as uninteresting as it was, and was kind in ways no one else had been. Harry listened. He paid attention to him. Harry treated him like a person.

And, honestly, Draco could do worse.

It was a relief to reach Harry’s village, Gryffindor. Draco hadn’t quite found his sea legs and he thought that the additional space would allow him the time to clear his jumbled thoughts and feelings about Harry. He knew the way his thoughts and his heart was heading, but he wasn’t sure it was what he truly wanted. All he could decide on was that he was open to Harry’s advances. Time would tell if Harry’s affection and interest were genuine, or if he would get bored and find a more willing lover.

As soon as they hit the small dock, the Viking crew dispersed. Their family and friends were waiting nearby to greet them, and they all headed home to enjoy themselves. Which ultimately left Draco standing awkwardly on the periphery, wondering how things would turn out now.

“C’mon.” Harry didn’t wait to see if Draco was following. He just shouldered his bag and stepped away from the dock. “I’ll show you my place.”

They weaved through the streets with Draco struggling to keep up with Harry’s quick pace. The walk was too fast for him to get his bearings and look around, and though he tried to remember the path they took, he knew he'd get lost without Harry’s help.

“Don’t worry,” Harry said as if he could read Draco’s thoughts. “I’ll give you a tour in a bit. First, I wanna get settled at home, make sure you’re comfortable there, and maybe get a real meal in you. We won’t be going on another raid for a while, so there’ll be enough time for you to see everything before then.”

They veered down a path that leads out of the busier parts of the village. A small home laid bare at the end of a dirt road. It could only be Harry’s home, and Draco thought it looks rather dilapidated. It’s harsh but there’s no other way to describe it. It clearly needed tending. The structure itself seemed solid, the thatch roof in good repair and the wood only slightly weathered, but there was no care or love put into it. The garden had grown wild (the flowers that were alive were stunning so perhaps Draco could find a way to salvage it) and the house desperately needed some sort of decoration. A wind chime at the very least.

It actually cheered him up to find a house in such a state; Harry might never get a willing lover from him, but he could take care of the house, be useful, and not get thrown back to Lucius.

As Draco listed all the things he would need to do, as well as make guesses about the state of the interior, he stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted a dog round the corner. The dog, an elkhound, was massive. He easily stood to Draco’s navel and had paws that could easily maul a man if the beast wanted to. As Draco and Harry walked closer, the dog perked up and watched Draco intently, licking his chops.

Harry placed a comforting hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“Remus is a beast of a hound, but he’ll let you be once I tell him to. Might take him a while to get used to your scent though.”

But without warning, the dog lurched forward and jumped onto Draco, almost knocking him to the ground with the sheer weight of his paws on Draco’s chest. Whiskey colored eyes stared into Draco’s soul, eyeing him before the beast licked a long stripe up his cheek. He barked, tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Huh.” Harry’s face was unreadable. “He’s never taken to anyone so quickly.”

Draco rubbed behind the dog’s ears, and he nuzzled happily against Draco’s cheek. “I thought Remus was one of the men on your crew…?”

“He is.” Whatever had passed through Harry’s mind moments ago vanished. It was replaced by an obvious fondness for his pet. “I named the dog after him. He hates it. Worse than that, Remus hates that he loves the thing.” Harry grabbed the dog and pulled him into a hug. Remus barked happily before pushing away and sitting happily at Harry’s feet. “He tried to teach the mutt to be an attack dog and come on raids with me, but it didn’t work out.”

“Too friendly,” Draco said knowingly.

Harry laughed. “No. A man once tried to break into my house while I was out and Remus ripped his throat out. Poor mutt just gets seasick.”

He patted the beast on the side and continued onward to the house. Remus followed his master eagerly, though he looked back several times to make sure that Draco was following.

The inside of the house was much bigger than Harry’s cabin on the ship. Draco was very grateful that he could stand without bumping his head at the very least, but it doesn’t mean that the interior was not just as sparsely furnished. The house was one room with a firepit running along the center of it. A bench was built into the far wall, perfect for both cooking and cleaning. Dried meat and vegetables hung over the bench, and Draco’s mouth watered at the sight of it. At this point, he’d be glad for anything other than stale bread and cheese. The meat in particular looked delicious.

Opposite the bench were stacks of cheese and crates, no doubt filled with food and Harry’s spoils from raids. And, in the farthest corner, was a single bed and a shield mounted to the wall above it. It was the only decoration in the other house, much to Draco’s dismay. His heart fluttered at the realization that they’d continue to share a bed, though he made sure to note that this bed was much larger than the one on the ship. He would be afforded more space and be even less likely to have to wake up in Harry’s embrace— a fantasy he would never admit he indulged in.

All in all, the house was completely utilitarian… and yet, Draco still felt more at home here than he ever had at Lucius’s keep or Astoria’s household.

Harry settled in, putting away a few of his things from the boat, and grabbed a snack for his and Draco to share. The whole time, Remus weaved around Harry’s legs. It’s a wonder that Harry hadn’t tripped over the dog yet.

Draco watched, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “You have a lovely home.”

And he meant it. The idea of a home, a space of his own, which he alone was a master of, had always eluded him. His memories of his parents’ house were muddled at best, and most were lost or distorted by time.

“Thanks, Ray.” Harry had only started using the nickname a day ago, and Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about it. For no reason he could quite pin down, he likes hearing it. No one had ever given Draco a nickname despite years of acquaintance, and he and Harry had only known each other for three days.

Of course, it might have helped that they shared a bed each night.

“So…” Harry clapped his hands together. “Not a whole lot. Basically just what you see. If there’s anything you need to make yourself more comfortable, lemme know and I’ll see what I can do about it.”

Draco was unsure if he should mention it, but… 

“There’s only one bed,” he blurted out.

“Well, yeah. I thought I’d be bringing back a lover. Don’t need two beds for that.” Harry’s smile was gentle as he strode over and put a reassuring hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll just be like on the ship. Easier eve, since it’s a bigger bed. I’ll give you your space and, hell, I won’t even be around all the time so you’ll have the place to yourself.”

A quick squeeze and a pat then Harry’s gone. Draco followed him to the door. “C’mon. I’ll show you around town a bit. Maybe introduce you to all the neighbors.”

As they walk the entire length of the village, Draco did his best to take it all in— memorize every path, learn every face, and the condition of every house. He was committed to making things work here. These people, despite being mostly Vikings, appeared friendly and welcomed him without caring for who his family was or what he could do for them. It was refreshing and it reaffirmed Draco’s desire to fit in and find a place for himself here.

When they finally return to Harry's house, Harry went inside to prepare dinner while Draco stayed outside to play fetch with Remus. The rhythm of throwing the leather ball helped him relax. In all his life, Draco had visited perhaps two other villages. And he never had the intention of staying there long. Learning this new place was draining, and he already longed for a home-cooked meal and a warm bed.

Soon, Remus broke off their game of tag and bolted towards the front door. A moment later, Harry appeared to let him know dinner is ready. It amused Draco to see the elkhound knowing his owner so well, and he followed them back inside.

Harry took a fresh loaf out of the fire and broke off a piece for Draco. It was still hot, slightly burnt on one side but otherwise perfect. Draco accepted the bread, breathing in the divine scent of grain and nuts. It tasted as good as it smells, especially once dipped in the honey Harry offered him.

“I didn’t know you baked your own bread,” Draco said in-between bits. Admittedly, the grain was coarse and got stuck in his teeth, but it’s a very small price to pay for such a delicious treat.

“Who else would make it for me?” Harry replied.

Once again, Draco was reminded of just how different things were here. In Lucius’s and Astoria’s homes, there were cooks to handle the meals. Despite having the wealth to hire a cook if he wanted to, Harry had chosen to cook for himself. More than that, the very notion of someone cooking for him seems to never have crossed his mind.

They spoke while they ate, mostly about Draco’s impressions of Gryffindoria and its people. With every compliment that Draco gave— whether about the ale he sampled or the charming landscape— Harry would beam as though he himself was praised as well. The conversation was light and easy in a way that Draco had so rarely experienced in Slytherin. It made him hopeful for his future here.

But then the moment was ruined when Harry leaned forward. He cradled Draco’s cheek in one hand and drew his thumb across his lips to brush away crumbs. Even after, his hand lingered a moment longer than it needed to. Draco’s heart fluttered at the touch, but as soon as Harry pulls away, he’s hit with a sobering realization.

This man wasn’t his friend.

This man kidnapped him with the intent of taking him as a lover.

Sure, right now Harry was amiable and hadn’t pressured him for a physical relationship, but if he changed his mind or grew tired of Draco’s reticence… whether he wanted to admit it or not, Harry held the greatest potential for problems.

Moving forward, Draco tried to balance his tentative friendship with Harry against mistakenly leadinghison. Despite Draco’s fears, Harry continued to be nothing but the perfect host. He was friendly and went out of his way to make Draco feel at home. Though there were still lingering touches and longing gazes, Harry never pushed. Even while they slept, Harry respectfully kept to his side of the bed.

It wasn’t until Harry left to lead a raid did Draco realize just how much he missed the Viking’s company.

He woke up one morning with the bed cold and empty, even with Remus occupying Harry’s usual spot. Once the dog noticed he’s awake, he barked and licked his chops.

“I know,” Draco whined as he cuddled the big bearskin closer. “I miss him too.”

The dog moved closer to him and laid his head across his thigh. Absentmindedly, he scratched behind the dog’s ear and tried not to think too much about why he’s missing Harry so much. They stayed in bed for another hour— Remus snuggling close and Draco being mopey.

The only reason he finally forced himself to get up was because he needed to. Harry was a Viking. This will not be the only time he left for days on end, and Draco needed to be capable of living here without his being around. This meant going out into the village— maybe working on Harry’s pitiful garden— and learning how to cook. 

He was hesitant to go out at first, but Remus decided to tag along and Draco was instantly reassured. Not that he thought anyone would try to hurt him, but the dog’s presence was definitely welcome. Over the next few days, he learned how to navigate Gryffindor. He met the non-Viking villagers, who were extremely curious about Harry’s captive and, therefore, very helpful.

Several of them were captives themselves, though they no longer referred to themselves as such. They had been here for so long— grown to become members of the community— and thus viewed their connection to Gryffindor as stronger than the one they’d felt to their birth homes. A non-Viking by the name of Pansy, in particular, takes a liking to Draco. She taught him how to cook some of the local dishes and helped give suggestions about the garden. And just as much as Draco appreciated her help, he was even more grateful to have found a friend.

Just when Draco began to feel comfortable in the village, there was a brief incident.

At the heart of the village was a long hall. The outside was plain, but inside it was decorated with shields and all manner of weapons. A long fire pit went through its center and the table was set around it. It served as a meeting hall and a communal dining hall— it was always filled with activity and it offered a place to talk or cook with others. Draco didn’t come often as he barely knew anyone and he preferred to try his hand at cooking alone but, today, Pansy wants to teach him how to make lamb stew, Harry’s favorite.

Draco had barely arrived before he was grabbed around the waist and pulled in against someone’s chest. For the briefest of seconds, Draco’s cheeks heated up. Harry was back and, in that moment, he was so thrown off balance he was sure that if Harry leaned in to kiss him, Draco would let him. But when he looked up, unfamiliar dark eyes peered down at him, a leer on the man’s face as his left hand dipped down to palm his ass.

Fuck.

“Pretty thing you are,” the man said, his beard ticking Draco’s cheeks as he spoke. Draco couldn’t help but wince and try to turn away, but the man’s grip tightened. “I could keep you company tonight. Keep you warm and make sure you’re satisfied.”

“That’s enough,” Pansy snapped as she physically stepped between them and pushed the man back. “He’s not interested.”

Draco cowered behind her. It’s ridiculous— she’s a good head shorter than him and not as nearly intimidating as the man she was standing up to— but he couldn’t help trying to distance himself from the man’s foul breath and his predatory gaze.

“I think that’s for him to decide—”

“You got a stick up someplace indecent, Theo? He’s Harry’s. Walk away or prepare to get a sword in your belly when Harry gets back.”

The man, Theo apparently, grew pale and started to back away. “Apologies,” he says. “I didn’t know you were Harry’s. I wouldn’t have—” He said no more as he flees the hall.

Pansy acted as though nothing had happened, simply leading Draco to the fire pit and talking about ingredients. Halfway through her explanation, though, she stopped mid-sentence and looked at him in concern.

“Are you alright?”

“I never had that… does it happen often?”

Pansy sighed, wiping her hands off before coming closer and hugging him tightly. Draco melted into the embrace, glad for the physical comfort after the incident.

“Sometimes,” she admitted when she let go. “But you’re new. Theo didn’t know to keep his hands to himself. Soon the whole village will know you’re Harry’s and you won’t have much trouble.”

Still shaking, Draco tried to distract himself by cutting up pieces of lamb. Pansy followed suit.

“But, I’m not Harry’s. He and I… We don’t…”

Unsurprised, Pansy shrugged. “No one needs to know that. What happens behind closed doors doesn't matter. Just use Harry’s name to protect yourself. That’s how this works.”

“It feels…” Draco struggled for the right word. “Manipulative.”

“Manipulative— oh, you really are new,” Pansy chuckled and pinched his cheek. “Who cares? It’s about as true in all the ways that matter— whatever you are to Harry, he’s taken you into his protection. If someone tries to hurt you, they’ll answer to him. And trust me when I say no one wants that to happen. He’s not called Heartless for nothing. He’s never lost a battle and never lets anyone hurt those he cares about—” Pansy abruptly cut herself off. “The point is, of all the things you have to worry about, that shouldn’t be one of them.”

Draco supposed that she’s right.

Harry had already offered Draco his protection from the crew and never sought anything in return. It did no one any harm to use his name; if anything, it prevented harm from coming to those who tried to touch Draco without his permission. The thoughts nagged at him though, and he resolved to bring it up once Harry returns.

There was no way to know when Harry would return though. Some raids took longer than others, depending on how far they sailed and how many villages they could find along the way. Draco had been warned of varying lengths of a few days to a whole month so he just stopped bothering to count the days and merely concentrated on keeping himself busy.

When the door burst open one afternoon, Draco was momentarily shocked and then delighted to see Harry. The Viking was loaded down with loot and Draco helped him take care of it. As soon as his arms were free, Harry scooped Draco in a big hug, spinning him around twice before setting him back down.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Harry asked with a wink. Draco did not blush. “What smells so good?”

“Oh!” Thankful for the distraction, Draco went back to the fire and stirred the stew. “Pansy taught me how to cook some things while you were gone. He said this is one of your favorites.”

He offered a spoonful to Harry, who he expected to take the spoon. Instead, Harry tippy-toed and placed a hand around Draco’s wrist to hold it steady. Then, with eyes never leaving Draco’s, he slurped up the stew.

Again, Draco did not blush.

“You learned this for me?” Harry asked around the food, chewing enthusiastically and eyeing the rest of the pot. “Thank you.”

“Yes.” To distract himself, he began pouring a bowl for Harry and then himself. “It was difficult. I’m not much of a cook as it is, and I’m unfamiliar with a lot of ingredients here, but Pansy is a very patient teacher.”

“Pansy’s a good one,” Harry agreed, grabbing some bread and dipping it into the stew. Only once it was soaked through did he eat it. “Never understood how Blaise got so lucky. Pansy’s a better Viking wife than most and she’s certainly better than he deserves.” 

He’s clearly joking— Draco had learned quickly Harry’s affection towards all of his crew members, but he and Blaise were especially close— but it reminded Draco of the incident with Theo.

“Viking wife,” he repeated. The phrase sounded odd on his tongue.

“Yeah. When a Viking takes a man or a woman as his own, they become his Viking wife. Doesn’t always work well, but Pansy and Blaise are a great example of it. Granted, they had a lot of time since she was brought back from a raid as an twelve year old and thus grew up with him, but they make it work.”

Draco sipped on his own stew before working up the nerve to start talking. “One of the men in the village tried to take advantage of me.” Harry turned red and looked like he wanted to rush back out the door and throttle the mentioned man. “But, Pansy stopped him,” Draco added quickly, and Harry looked somewhat mollified. “She said I was yours and he stopped. But, Harry, am I yours? Am I your Viking wife?”

Harry had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Kinda? We don’t have ceremonies or the like as your people do. If you share a Viking’s bed, you’re their wife. As such, you get my protection.”

“Oh.” Draco considered that for a moment. “So you lied that night on the ship?”

There was no anger or accusation behind the words. Truth be told, underneath everything, all Draco could feel was a thrill of being universally known as Harry’s. Or the other way around. Draco wasn’t really sure yet.

“Well, not technically…” Harry hedged. When he saw Draco’s disapproving look, he smiled apologetically. “I really wasn’t trying to deceive you. You hadn’t shared my bed yet, but… they probably would’ve been too scared of me to try anything anyways. But they might’ve thought you were available, so who knows?”

“But we don’t… you and I aren’t… I’m not—”

“We have shared a bed,” Harry said gently. “Anything more than that is none of their business anyways.”

“But they assume that we…” Draco’s voice trailed off.

Harry shrugged. “If that upsets you, I can tell people the truth. They should still leave you alone since you still live with me.”

Draco opened his mouth to ask for just that, but then he snapped it shut. It should’ve bothered him that everyone assumed he and Harry were in a romantic relationship, but it truly didn’t. He knew all too well what the villagers at Slytherin would say about it though— an unmarried man sleeping in another’s bed. No amount of assurance would convince them that Draco was not ruined by such a liasson.

Yet the people here didn’t care.

No, they encouraged it.

Draco could feel the last of his hesitation start to disappear right then and there. This was a society that wouldn’t judge him for beginning a relationship with Harry, and it wasn’t as though he could deny his own attraction to the pretty Viking. But, it was still too soon to act on it. He wanted— _needed—_ to make sure about things before he gave in. His bad luck with Astoria made him wary of trusting a lover, no matter how much he might want to.

Of course, Harry didn't make it easy to resist.

It took a while for Draco to even realize he was being courted, but it became evident that Harry is slowly but surely trying to woo him. 

And it was working.

There were gifts from Harry’s raids. The exotic foods and jewelry and the fur cloak and winter boots— they were all blatantly hand-picked just for Draco. He listened about Draco’s complaints about the lack of color in their shared home and brought back knickknacks and paintings to help decorate. And then there was the cooking; even though Draco was slowly but surely learning how to prepare Viking dishes, Harry would delight in cooking for him. Not even as a child could Draco remember being so spoiled.

Perhaps, the most notable was how much they got along. There were no stilled conversations, no awkward silences that begged to be filled, and no end to how much Draco enjoyed the Viking’s company. Harry was so nice and giving and… well, everything Astoria wasn’t.

What finally sealed it for Draco was when Harry and his crew were gone for over a fortnight. It was their longest separation yet and Draco couldn’t deny that he yearned for his return— couldn’t deny that he woke up lonely and cold and empty. In the light of day, it was easier to ignore this ‘surprising’ turn of events. 

Normally, while Harry was gone, Draco spent time with Pansy and some other Viking wives. Together, they cooked and worked in their garden and took care of each other’s children. Lately, though, they decided that Draco needed to learn how to fight. It went without saying that everyone in the village knows how to use a blade and how to defend themselves, and once they realized Draco did not, they began the dreaded daily lessons.

“But, I’m not a Viking,” Draco objected when Pansy forced a silver dagger into his hand. 

“You’re a Viking wife. If the village is attacked while the Vikings are away, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

And it had taken a lot of work and a lot of failure— which the small nicks and bruises all over his body attested to— but he felt reasonably confident that he’d improved. Draco didn’t intend to go looking for a fight, but if one found him, at least he wouldn’t be totally unprepared for it.

He was just barely able to disarm Pansy when the horn sounded from the harbor. Harry’s ship was visible at the docks, and there was an unspoken undercurrent of excitement as the village gathered to welcome their Vikings home. Draco stood at the periphery, watching the couples reunite and children jump into their parents’ arms.

Harry was one of the last to exit the ship— no doubt because of his feeling that it was one of the responsibilities as the leader to do so. He carried a large bouquet of flowers in stunning flowers, and Draco’s heart pitter-pattered in anticipation for his gift. And then the moment arrived when Draco knew he'd fallen head-first for the Viking.

As Harry went through the crowd, he stopped by each child he saw and handed them one of the colorful flowers. The children giggled in delight and asked for help braiding them into their hair or pinning them down to their tunics. The parents of those children merely grinned at Harry and gave a mock salute to their leader before they kneel to do just that. The laughter and joy that Harry brought those children to his people… 

It was too much for Draco to adequately put into words.

When Harry finally reached Draco, he stepped forwards to wrap him in their much-anticipated reunion hug. A moment of inspiration struck him though, and Draco nimbly dodged out of the way. Without a second thought, he twisted around to bind Harry’s arms behind him, kicked Harry’s legs from under him, and then pinned him to the ground. The crowd around them hooted and hollered as Harry squawked in surprise and tried to get up. Draco allowed him to roll on his back, but kept his position straddling his torso and keeping his arms secured.

He smiled down, flexing his fingers in greeting.

There’s a brief moment where he thought he would be bold enough to steal a kiss, but his momentary burst of nerves left just as quickly as it appeared. He resisted the urge and climbed off of Harry, offering a hand to help him his feet. There was a flash of disappointment in Harry’s eyes, but he hid it well.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked as he wiped mud from his pants. “Not quite the welcome I was expecting.”

“The other Viking wives have been teaching me how to fight. I thought you’d like to see how my lessons are going.”

Harry let out a low whistle. “Color me impressed. Not many your size can take me down so easily.”

“He isn’t that small,” Blaise interrupted as he stepped forward, an arm around a very pleased Pansy. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t let him pin you anytime, anywhere.”

Some of the nearby villagers hummed in agreement and Harry turned an appealing shade of pink.

“You should find out what other moves Pansy’s taught him,” Luna said as she walked by. “See if loverboy is worth all the trouble you put into getting ‘im.”

“You all are against me! My own crew!”

The jeers followed them back to the meeting hall where a feast was hurriedly being cooked. Draco and the other Viking wives did their part to celebrate their Viking’s homecoming. The whole time, he felt Harry’s eyes on him. It was uncomfortable, yet reassuring to feel his presence after so long.

“Goddamn it!” he hissed. He yanked his hand away from the fire, but the damage was already done. He had spilled some broth on his hand, and it was already starting to look angry and red.

“I’ve never heard you curse before,” Pansy teased as she took him aside to treat his wound. “You need to stop thinking about Harry and keep your mind on what you’re doing, or you’ll have more burns before dinner’s even served.”

“Who says I’m thinking about Harry?”

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “You weren’t? Because if I’m not mistaken, you were publicly straddling him not even half an hour ago—”

“Shhh!” he hissed, looking around. No one was paying them much attention, but it didn’t stop Draco’s nerves from flaring with embarrassment.

“You’re allowed to like Harry,” Pansy continued, cutting right back to the thick of things. “I know it’s confusing since he kidnapped you. It was hard for all of us. But we’ve all found a better life here. Maybe not one we were expecting, but one that’s worth having and protecting. If you like Harry, don’t feel like you have to deny yourself that chance at happiness.”

“I’m not,” Draco protested. It sounded weak, even to him. “I’m just being cautious.”

“Worried he'll break your heart?” he looked past him, presumingly finding Harry in the crowd. ”Can’t say it’s not a possibility. A Viking can be a good man, but he's a fickle one too. Harry never struck me that way, but who can really be sure? Never seen him spend so much effort trying to woo someone. Or any effort, really. Men and women fall easily into his bed, and they fall just as easily out of it. You, though… he's invested in you.”

Draco blushed.

There’s no denying how pleased he was to hear Pansy’s encouragement. 

But now the question became: what was he waiting for?

When the meal was finally served, the Viking wives joined their respective partners. Their respective partners who, at least for the female Vikings, perched upon their husbands’ or… wives’ (?)— Draco isn’t exactly sure of how these terms worked— laps. They each looked very comfortable where they were and were actively feeding each other. Draco had never felt brave enough to sit on Harry’s so, as a consequence, he sat beside Harry instead. Yet, it seemed like another small step toward what he was more and more convinced he actually wanted.

Emboldened by Pansy’s confidence in him and the certainty of his own heart, Draco strode over to where Harry sat, handed him a small tray, and carefully sat down on his knee. Harry looked like he swallowed his own tongue as he looked up at Draco with comically wide eyes. 

“Ray?” he asked, his voice raspy. “Are you sure?”

Draco answers with a small nod and presses his side against him. He used his free hand to break off a piece of bread, dipped it in honey, and held it out for Harry to take. And, as if they traveled back in time and were back home during the time where Draco first learned to cook lamb stew, Harry took a bite with his eyes trained on Draco. It’s exhilarating. Throughout the entire meal, they stayed like that: hand-feeding each other and enjoying every moment of it.

It was easy to tell that Harry loved having Draco so close to him, completely forgetting those around him. Draco was surprised to realize that he did so as well. Perhaps it was time Draco stopped being so surprised by how pleasing Harry’s presence was. Perhaps this was a sign Draco should just give in and take what Harry so freely offered him all those nights ago. 

When they finally tumbled into that one-room home, Draco helped Harry put his new loot away. He smiled and kissed Harry’s cheek to thank him for the new gift— a gilded jewelry box with roses carved along the top. It’s their first kiss and Draco would’ve been blind to miss the glint in Harry’s eyes that moment. Yet again, he let Draco set the pace and didn’t push for any more. When they crawled into bed that night, there was a smaller gap between them than usual but still plenty of room.

Draco fell asleep wondering how he ever resisted the already-familiar domesticity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Has not been fixed yet! If you would rather avoid a headache from the gender pronouns/other bullshitty stuff, please wait another day or so!**

When Harry had first thought up his plan of revenge, he thought it’s be difficult. Not that he doubted his own powers of seduction, but planning to bed someone sight unseen was a whole different matter than deciding after you’d met them.

Then he’d laid eyes on Draco; the boy, surely a few years older, was gorgeous. His eyes alone enchanted Harry, but his high cheekbones, straight white blond hair, confidently unconfident shoulders… all of it enticed him.

Yet, still, he worried.

Lucius was an odious man and, surely, any relative of his— especially one he’d raised— would be just as insufferable. If he were honest, Harry was looking forward to dislike Draco. He smiled and said all the right things to appear otherwise, but deep down he waited for an annoying quirk to have his blood boiling. It’d taken him a while to realize Draco had no annoying quirks. Draco was nothing but kind, sweet, responsible, and—

And Harry really needed to get his emotions in check.

Draco being pleasant company was a good sign. The last thing he needed was to be incapable of following through with his master plan just because he was too overcome with disgust. He needed Draco to be utterly devoted to him, so thoroughly enamoured that their inevitable separation would devastate him. Draco needed to be ruined as completely as Hermione had been, or else it wouldn’t have been good enough.

Although Draco was hesitant, Harry knew that he’d eventually succeed. With such a sweet person like Draco, it wasn’t difficult to play the role of an attentive lover. He cooked for him, helped decorate the house to his liking, and showered him with attention and gifts, The poor boy was so attention starved that he ate it right up. Almost as if he’d gone through years of being ignored. If it were anyone else, Harry might feel sorry for him.

No matter; he could assuage any guilt he felt by being kind to Draco now. 

Even if his village shunned him, at least he’d have a few pleasant months with Harry to comfort him.

At least, that’s what Harry thought.

For every attempt he made to catch Draco’s attention, Draco did something equally as enchanting. To name a few: learning how to cook Harry’s favorite foods, cleaning out the garden, planting flowers and vegetables, and learning how to _fight_. How was Harry supposed to resist a man who could pin him?

Obviously, it was as easy as he was supposed to resist a man who kissed his cheek as if a single necklace represented the sun and moon.

The next morning, Draco was obviously pleased about making this choice. So Harry decided to indulge him in a kiss to his cheek before firing up the fireplace. Two days later, he woke up with Draco draped around him. Remus was laying across their feet, legs twitching in his sleep as he likely dreamed of chasing a wild hare. It was so warm and cozy— so comfortable and domestic— that Harry almost didn’t want to wake up for real and start the day.

Wait.

 _Domestic_?

The thought made his shudder.

Carefully and as quickly as he could manage, he extricated himself from Draco’s hold and got out of bed. He grabbed the first clothes he could find and pulled them on, practically fleeing from the house once was half-dressed. He had no destination in mind, no goal other than to put as much distance between himself and Draco as possible. His feet carried him to the meeting hall and he stormed inside.

A girl tending the fire took one look at him and ran to get him an ale skin. Harry nodded in thanks before drinking generously. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to entrance Draco, save and ruin him, and then get rid of him. He’d done the entrancing part, but now that he was on the precipice of completely his revenge, Harry hesitates. Like it or not, he cared about Draco. He wasn’t supposed to, but it’d happened anyways.

And how are you supposed to abandon someone you care about?

_You’re being ridiculous. So what if you like him? It doesn’t mean you can’t follow through. Take some time to distance yourself from him, maybe kiss him once or twice more, and then kick him out. You can still do this._

Of course he could.

Never one to hesitate, Draco went through the village gathering his crew. He’d never given his men and women so little time to rest between raids, but this calls for special circumstances. The open sea and his beloved ship were exactly what he needed to clear his mind— to refocus and remind himself of what’s really important. The only reason Harry thought he had feelings for Draco was because they’ve been cooped up together for too long. A few days apart and Draco would get over it.

The Vikings weren’t happy to see Harry dragging him back out to pillage, but they came along anyways. Something about the manic and desperate look in his eyes must have clued them in not to try Harry’s patience right now. They said quick farewells to their lovers and children, then headed for the ship.

“You’re leaving?” Draco asks, practically dead weight against him as he hugged Harry. “When will you be back?”

Harry’s fingers card through Draco’s untamed hair, and he kisses the top of his head. It was all part of the act though. Nothing more.

“We’ll be back soon. I promise. No more than a week.”

_A week will be more than enough time to forget how your smile reminds me of the sun rising after a hurricane._

Draco pulls away and offers a wane smile. “Stay safe.”

Then he sat up straight and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. When he pulled away, Harry almost asked him to kiss him on the mouth. He barely restrains himself; his fingers itching to grab Draco, his hands balled into tight fists in an effort to reel himself in, and his eyes linger far too long on Draco’s lips. 

What was wrong with him?

Without another word, Harry turned and headed for the shore.

* * *

The men and women kneeling before them hands over their jewelry, purses, and weapons. Dean walked down the line, collecting them in a bag. As usual, he cheerfully thanks each of them and apologizes for the inconvenience. The first time he’d done it, Harry had seriously questioned why he’d even considered bringing Dean along. Then he saw Dean take out a man twice his size with nothing but a fork. Needless to say, he’d earned a permanent place on Harry’s ship after that.

Harry followed behind Dean, sizing people up to see if they were planning anything stupid. One man looked like he might— Harry makes sure to make a point by looming over him and scowling.

“Don’t do anything stupid unless you want to get your throat slit,” Harry warned as he put a hand on his dagger. They might call him Heartless, but that kind of violence was usually reserved for Lucius’s men. He didn’t kill random villagers just for kicks, not if he could prevent it, but he wouldn’t hesitate if this kid tried to appoint himself hero. 

The kid winced at Harry’s tone and looked down, nodding.

“Good boy.” And to add insult to injury, Harry mussed his hair roughly before pushing him to the ground.  
Dean was finishing up with the last couple villagers and Harry stepped over to help. One of the last women was about to drop her necklace into the bag when it caught the light. Harry rushed over and snatched it from her hand, turning the beautiful piece of silver in his hands. It reflected the sunlight, sparkled brilliantly, and every shade of silver imaginable would be visible if the angle was just right.

“I’m keeping this,” Harry said as he pocketed it.

“Sure thing. Another present for your beau?” Dean asked knowingly.

Harry froze. Of course it was for Draco— Harry never cared for jewels, he preferred weapons as his share of loot— but it rattled him to realize it. He hadn’t even thought twice of it. He’d simply taken it. Every other gift has been chosen after careful deliberation to make sure it would appeal to him. This was an impulse— one that was so automatic that it worried him.

He wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about Draco right now. Goddamn it.

It didn’t get better after that. Drinking provided a decent distraction until they were ambushed at the next port. It didn’t actually brother him. A fight was a fight, and if he was fighting, he couldn’t think about silver eyes and white-platnium blond hair. At least… not too much. If in the heat of the moment he got a thrill from showing off his skill with a blade to Draco, he couldn’t help that.

Between himself, Remus, Dean, and Seamus, they made easy work for the mercenaries. Remus managed to keep one of them alive for interrogation, adn Harry was marginally disappointed when he confessed to everything without Harry even needing to threaten to torture him.

Killjoy.

“We’re looking for Malfoy’s boy from Slytherin. Lucius thinks you took him. He’s offered a substantial amount of gold for the boy.”

“You want Ray huh?”

“Who?”

Harry’s smile wavers. “Ray. Draco. Lucius’s son. The one you’re looking for.”

The man shrugged. “Weren’t given a name. Know the boy’s twenty-two, not quite six feet, gray eyes, blond hair.”

Harry’s left eye twitches. Lucius cared so little for his son that he hadn’t even told these men his name, nonetheless how incorrect their descriptions were. Draco just turned twenty-three, he’s already six foot one, he has dashing silver eyes, and his hair isn’t just blond, it’s the white blond that shines under the moonlight and— Goddamn it.

“And what exactly were you supposed to do with Draco when you found him?”

“A hundred gold coins to the man who killed you and twenty for each member of your crew that we killed. Fifty coins to the man who brought back his son alive. If you couldn’t get the boy to come willingly, he offered forty if you brought proof of the boy’s death.” 

Red flashed before Harry’s eyes.

He’d been absolutely right that Lucius would care about him taking his son and the insult to his family name, but it never occurred to him that the man was no heartless he’d actively try to kill Draco to prevent any more slander to his name. The fact that he’d offered almost the same price for Draco’s death as for his safe return spoke volumes about his priorities.

Something akin to protectiveness fared up inside Harry.

He grabbed the hatchet out of Remus’s hand. His uncle barely got out of the way before Harry was hacking away. He didn’t hear the screams or notice the blood splattering across his armor. He kept at it well after the man was lying dead at his feet; he kept going until his arm was tired and he still didn’t feel any better.

Wiping the blood from his face, Harry threw the hatchet on the ground.

Many men had heard of Harry the Heartless, but few had heard of Gryffindor. It was too small to attract trade, though it wasn’t entirely necessary since the Vikings brought in goods. So, certainly, no one would be able to connect him with Gryffindor. 

But if Lucius knew Harry was there, he wouldn’t waste time sending mercenaries to random ports and hoping to get lucky. Gryffindor was safe. _Draco_ was safe—

“We’re going home,” he snarled as he stormed back to the ship. He needed to be sure. He’d have no peace of mind until he saw Draco was alright with his own eyes.

“We’ve only been gone a couple of days,” Ron pointed out as he struggled to keep up with his long stride. “Haven’t gotten enough loot to make the trip worthwhile—”

“Did I stutter? We’re leaving. Now.”

To his credit, Ron didn’t so much as flinch. “Look, I know you’re worried about him but—”

“I am not worried. I just want to go home and… and…” 

When Harry couldn’t think of a suitable lie, he stormed off. He didn’t care if Ron believed him or not. As long as he did as he was told and gathered the crew to set sail, Harry couldn’t care less about what Ron was thinking at the moment.

They made record time in getting back. Harry pushed his crew and did double shifts rowing himself. The only times he slept was when his arms and back were exhausted, and Blaise had to half-carry him to his quarters. For a few hours, he’d get an almost restful sleep before his dreams would shift to nightmares of being too late to stop some other group of mercenary bastards from trying to take Draco back to his father.

Worst part, Harry knew he was being paranoid. He spent every waking moment alternating between making sure they weren’t being followed— they weren’t— and worrying about Draco. He tried to not let the worry take over his rational thought, which meant that it didn’t leave much room to brood over other things. Other things like his obvious attachment to Draco.

One problem at a time.

At daybreak, Harry caught sight of familiar coastlines and was relieved. The weather was clear, letting them see for miles over the ocean. As they drew closer, Harry kept post at the prow, wrapping around the impala’s head and absentmindedly stroking his fingers between his horns. He’s never failed to bring him luck before, and he hoped he wouldn't now.

_I don’t need luck. I’m overreacting. Draco is fine._

_Draco is fine._

_Draco better be fine, or I’ll rip apart the men who touched him and burn everything they love to the ground._

Half the village was there to greet them on the beach as usual. The Viking wives and their children were eagerly seeing the return of their families. A few others were there, hoping to offer their assistance to the Vikings in exchange for some of the loot they carried back for them. Harry ignored them all. He scanned the crowd for a pair of silver eyes under a mane of white-blond hair.

Draco wasn’t there. 

_There are a million reasons he might not be here_ , he reasoned with himself as he worked through the crowd. _He’s working in the garden. He’s taking a nap. He’s practicing his knife fighting. Don’t freak out._

Harry freaked out.

As soon as he got past the throng of people, he ran home. The few people he encountered jumped out of the way as he sprinted past, his mind only focused on getting home and checking in on Draco. 

Luckily, the gate wasn’t broken. Which was a good sign.

_Unless Draco went back willingly._

But no, Remus was wandering around the garden chasing butterflies. THe dog would be more upset if something had happened to Draco.

 _Unless Draco went back willingly!_ _  
_Panic gripped him as he opened the door, heedless of his muddy boots. He needed to see Draco now or else he—

“Hello, Harry.”

Oh. 

Draco was in the kitchen, placing a bowl of enticing-smelling soup on the table. He greeted Harry with a soft smile. 

“I saw your ship. I thought I’d reheat some food for you,” Draco said shyly. Then he stopped, his eyes trailing up and down Harry’s armor. “Are you alright?”

“Draco,” Harry finally let a sigh of relief escape. The worry that had been sitting heavily in his stomach for the past few days was instantly replaced with gratefulness and something akin to affection. Before he could even register what was happening, Harry was tearing off the bloodied layer and embracing Draco in a tight hug. 

“Oh,” Draco said. He patted Harry’s back awkwardly. “I suppose you’ve run into some trouble?”

“You have no idea,” Harry replied, his grip tightening. After another moment of simply reveling in the relief he was too stubborn to think about, Harry let him go. He managed to fake an easy smile. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “I’m glad that you’ve returned safely.”

His silver eyes are earnest; his smile put the sun to shame. He’s beautiful— standing there in Harry’s kitchen as if he was proud of Harry being able to do something that he usually does so effortlessly— and he’s not with Lucius’s mercenaries. He’s safe, which was what Harry had been so worried about in the first place, and everything was just right for Harry to say—

“Gods, you’re perfect.”

It was the sappiest thing he’s ever said in his life, but Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed. Because, right now at the very least, it was absolutely true. Later he could try and take it back. Later he could try to figure out what it meant that he’d _thought_ it, never mind said it.

But right now it was just the two of them.

Harry didn’t need to justify himself to anyone— to explain how this all fits into his plan. Harry could just enjoy the moment. He could enjoy Draco’s smile that widened and his eyes that sparkled.

Harry never saw himself as a weak man or as a coward, but for the next few weeks, he indulged in a fantasy. He slipped further into the illusion he’d created to ‘love’ Draco: the lovesick Viking who dotes upon his lover at every opportunity.

And it was an admittedly enjoyable role to play.

Especially when he returned to Draco every night and woke up tightly wrapped around or in Draco. And with Draco smiling more and more freely at each kiss, it became harder for Harry to remember why he shouldn’t let himself have this for forever.

He hated being away from Draco when he went on raids. The only way he could get any peace of mind was to have Dean or Blaise stay behind and keep an eye on things for him. Though Harry was increasingly confident that Gryffindor was safe, Draco’s life wasn’t something he was willing to bet on. Each voyage was accompanied by endless worrying.

The only distraction were the gifts he collected along the way: more jewels, precious stones, and his favorite fruit from Draco’s own village that just won’t grow in Gryffindor no matter how carefully Draco tended the soil. Harry looked forward to his home, not merely to see Draco again but to see his face light up in delight when he saw his new gifts.

“You’re spoiling me,” Draco whispered under the covers that night. 

“I hope so.”

All in all, life was pretty awesome with Draco there. Harry didn’t wake up alone anymore, nor did he lack for company during the day; Draco wasn’t just a good cook either. He was clever and infinitely more engaging than Harry’s previous affairs. So, more often than not, Harry would lose himself in the game he was playing. In the lie he’d been telling for so long that it felt real.

It was especially easy to forget when he and Cas faced each other on the bed, and whispered sweet nothings before sleeping.

“I love you,” Harry whispered, like it was the most precious secret in the world. In those moments, Harry didn’t need to justify himself or make excuses; and in the light of day, he could always convince himself he’d dreamt saying it and Draco answering with: “I love you too.”

For as long as he could, he’d put off telling Draco that all of this was done out of revenge. None of it was real; it was all a sham to make his father pay for doing the very same thing to Hermione all those years ago.

“I missed you,” Harry said easily. “I brought more gifts.”

“I’m sure you did,” Draco replied almost fondly. But then he wiggled out of Harry’s embrace. “I have to help the other Viking wives cook a feast to celebrate your return.”

Harry gave an exaggerated pout before giving in. “Fine. But you’re sitting beside me tonight, okay?”

“Of course.”

“... well aren’t you two cute?” Blaise drawled. Harry immediately flushed but didn’t comment. “Actually, I think the phrase I’m looking for is ‘disgustingly cute’.”

It always made his hackles rise to hear someone else talk about his thing with Draco. Remus, Neville, Blaise, Dean, and all of them knew what this was really about. And to hear them talk about him fawning over Draco really riled him up. It made him feel guilty for not following through (or maybe misleading Draco in the first place) and weak for being caught.

“It’s just an act, Blaise,” he scoffed and tried to walk away.

Never one to leave well enough alone, Blaise matched his pace.

“Sure it is. You’re not at all smitten with the cute boy you’re been playing house with.” Harry glared at him, but Blaise kept right on talking. “Thought the plan was to bed him and lose him. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve long since done the bedding part…”

Harry stopped abruptly. “What are you saying?”

“That maybe you don’t _want_ to do the losing part. And that’s fine if you wanna keep him. He’s good for you. I don’t remember ever seeing you this happy.”

“Yeah, well maybe the plan’s changed,” Harry snapped defensively. “Maybe I’ll just keep him as my willing slave instead.”

The look Blaise gave him was so full of pity that it made Harry cringe.

“Sure, Harry. Keep telling yourself that. Keep pretending you don’t care about him. See what that gets you.” Blaise placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed hard. Without another word, he walked away.

Harry was so caught off-balance by their whole conversation that he didn’t respond at first. It wasn’t until Blaise had almost disappeared from sight that Harry yelled after him: “I don’t care about him! I’ll show you just how little I care about him!”

He plotted all throughout dinner how to show his detachment to Draco. Despite his bravado in front of Blaise, he wasn’t sure he even needed to prove anything to the other man. So long as he could prove it to himself that he could remain detached and disinterested, Harry would count it as a win.

In the end, he decided to keep things simple.

Once they’ve returned to their— to his home, he’d tell Draco to get the hell away from him. He’d break things off so thoroughly and abruptly that Draco would be just as dumbstruck as Harry had been when Blaise first insulted him.

It started out the way that Harry wanted. He’d quickly walked in, ignoring Draco completely, as he dropped the goods near the front door. He was about to start telling Draco off when the man put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and looked at him with worried eyes.

“Are you alright? I apologize if I accidentally put the wrong condiment for the soup. I’d noticed you were a bit unwell during dinner.”

Draco was just so earnest, Harry had lost his concentration.

“Sorry, I was just thinking. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Draco smiled and pulled Harry into a tight embrace. “I really am glad you’re back.”

Harry smiled back. And when he whispered “I love you” that night, he pretended as though he didn’t hear Draco’s response. 

* * *

Harry tried to distance himself from Draco after that.

He truly did, but he was already caught in Draco’s orbit. A smile or a wave was all it took for him to bow at Draco’s every whim. Luckily for Harry, Draco hadn’t figured that out yet (or if he had, his whims were very easily met).

As it was, Harry needed to make a decision.

He’d excused himself from going out to the marketplace with Draco and gone for a walk to clear his head and think. His feet carried him to the beach, as it often did when his mind was troubled. Staring out at the waves offered him no answers (if anything, the cloudy weather reminded him of the entrancing silver of Draco’s eyes), but he didn’t know what else to do at this point.

It’d never occurred to him not to follow through with his original plan, yet now he found himself considering other options. When it came down to it though, there really were two possibilities: cast Draco out on his own to face public scorn and his father’s wrath, or don’t. One one hand, he’d get revenge on Lucius. It’d be poetic.

But on the other hand… he’d still have his revenge on Lucius. His family name was still sullied by his son running off with a Viking, whether or not he stayed with that Viking. Maybe it’d be slightly more damning to have been rejected by a Viking, but that probably wouldn't matter to Lusicu. Any insult to his reputation would be a grievous one.

He pictured both possibilities. Telling Draco the truth pained him more than he’d like to admit. The mere _idea_ of hurting Draco was unbearable, never mind living with the consequences. But if he kept Draco and continued to live out this relationship he’d stumbled into… 

His heart felt lighter and his whole being craved that life.

And yet… he was so terrified of it. Caring for Draco, nay, loving Draco was much more complicated than revenge. Following the plan was simple. It was known. This thing with Draco was the complete opposite. It was different and dangerous because he’d never tried giving his heart to anyone before. And pushing Draco away might hurt him, but it’d keep Harry safe.

Circling back around the village one last time, Harry was no closer to a decision than he had been before. Seeing no point in this fruitless exercise, he headed back home.

When Harry entered the house, he saw Draco sitting on the bench and staring into the fireplace. Remus sat by his side, head in Draco’s lap as Draco petted him absentmindedly.

“Hey Ray,” Harry called out brightly as he stepped forward to kiss him. “How was the marketplace?”

As he leaned in to steal a kiss, he nearly yelped when Remus nipped at him. _What the hell had gotten into the mutt?_

“Is it true?” Draco asked.

Harry turned his attention from the dog to Draco. Even in the dim light of the dying fire, he could see that Draco was upset. More than upset, perhaps. There was a thunderous storm brewing behind those silvery eyes. Harry had never seen Draco’s temper before, and he wondered if this was a mere preview. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad— the boy could barely grow a beard, how intimidating could he be really— but there was something in his expression that made Harry want to take a step back.

“Is what true?”

Draco turned back to the fire and pushed a few coasl around, ashes flying as the poker scattered the embers. “I overheard Ron and Blaise talking in the marketplace.”

His heart skipped a beat. 

“Oh?”

“They were taking bets. Wondering how long it would be before… before you...”

Oh no.

No no no no no no—

Steeling himself while Harry watched on helplessly, Draco continued: “Before you kicked me out. Before you decided to keep going with your plan to use me as a means to get back at my father.” His voice rose and he threw the iron poker into the fire as he stood up. “So. Harry, is it true? Am I just a means to an end? Has it all been a lie?”

This was the time to come clean. To confess and beg for forgiveness. To hope that Draco, his wonderful, beautiful, loving Draco, would understand and give him another chance. That he’d see that Harry cared beyond his petty need for revenge.

Unfortunately, none of those words were the ones that came out.

“Yes,” Harry croaked. “It was all too easy to seduce you into my bed. You wanted to be ruined. You were practically begging for it when I met you. I could have only dreamt that you’d be—”

In one fluid motion, Draco took a step forward and slapped Harry across the face. Remus barked and whined in confusion, trying to push himself between the two of them. Harry grabbed the dog, held him tight and begged for this nightmare to end.

“How could I have been so wrong about you?”

There were tears in Draco’s eyes, tears that Harry could reach forward and just wipe away—

No. 

No, he’d lost the right to do that. He’d made his choice, no matter how much it might pain him, and now Harry had to stay strong and follow through. This was the whole point right? Everything from the moment they’ve met, it's all been leading up to this moment.

“What am I supposed to do?” Draco asked. “I can’t— I can’t go back…”

“Well…” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out. But you can’t stay here.”

“Rage flickered behind Draco’s eyes before he subdued into something more neutral. “Nor would I want to. I’ve lived my whole life in places I wasn’t truly wanted, I’m not exactly eager to continue that trend now.” Draco tore off the necklace he was wearing, the ring and the woven bracelets, and threw them all into the dying fire. “Goodbye, Harry. I hope you’re happy.”

God, Harry felt like he was dying.

* * *

“Harry?”

Harry jolted awake but once he was able to place the voice, he slumped back against the bench and started to look for his flask. The damn thing was empty, so he threw it aside.

“What do you want, Blaise?” he slurred. He was too tired to deal with whatever the fuck Remus wanted. Letting his head fall back against the bench, he tried to fall back asleep.

Blaise kicked his leg. Hard.

“What the—?” Hands roughly grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. “God-friggin’-damn it!”

“You need to quit moping. You’re dog’s so damn sick of you he’s been following Pansy around. It’s not my job to feed the mutt for you, Harry.”

“I ain’t moping!”

“Really?”

Blaise gestures wildly around the house. Broken shields and splintered spears that hadn’t survived Harry’s rage, empty and discarded wine skins, and other manner of forgotten or abandoned clothes and food. Even at his worst, Harry had never been such a slob. “‘Cause from here, it doesn't look like you’re doing too good.”

“What of it?” Harry snapped as he pushed away from Blaise’s hold on him. It was a bad idea, something that Harry realized when the world spun and he had to stumble before regaining his balance. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will.”

“I will! I just need to… to… to find a whore to fuck and I’ll be over it.”

“You want me to get you one?” Blaise asked him seriously.

Bluff or not, Harry couldn’t help but flinch. Night after night, he’d woken up reaching for Draco only to find the other side of the bed empty. The thought of _replacing_ his warmth for someone else’s… it sickened him.

“No,” he admitted. “No, I don’t want that.”

Blaise took a seat on the bench and motioned for Harry to do the same. Petulantly, he did.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Blaise said sternly. “It’s been a week and no one’s seen the hide or hair of you. The others are getting restless. They wanna sail out and look for trouble.”

“Then take ‘em. Go without me this one time.”

Not once in all the years Harry had been a Viking did he let his crew go on without him. They were his men and women, his _responsibility_ , and he’d be damned if he was going to not be there when they needed him. Except this time, he truly did not want to go.

“Harry, I know you’re upset about Draco…”

“You don’t know anything about it!”

His voice was rough from disuse and didn’t get quite as loud as he wanted, but he still managed to convey his anger that they were talking about this. It was too soon. He needed more time to recover.

There’d never be enough time to get over losing Draco.

“I know you’re upset about Draco,” Blaise repeated. Harry’s outburst felt even more childish as Blaise ignored it all together. “And I know you’re stubborn and proud and don’t want to admit that you messed up, but I’m here to tell you that you _definitely_ messed up.”

“Ugh!” Harry buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to hear this. As if he didn’t already know he’d messed up the best thing that ever happened to him/

A steady hand rested on the back of his neck and squeezed. “You should go after him. The crew’s ready to go at a moment’s notice. Say the word and we’ll get him back.”

“No.”

Blaise sighed. His hand drifted down to pat Harry’s back a few times before it disappeared. Harry peeked between his fingers to watch Blaise head out the door. He paused in the doorway, picking at a loose splinter.

“I was worried you wouldn’t listen to me,” Blaise said. “So I brought backup.”

Without bothering to explain, he stepped outside. Harry frowned at the bright light— shit it was midday— until a silhouette appeared in the doorway. He’d expected Pansy to come and yell at him, or maybe Remus, but the person blocking the light was easily neither of them.

“Hey, Harry.”

“Mione?”

He flew to his feet and nearly tackled his best friend in a hug. It’s been months, maybe even a year, since Harry had seen his best friend, and Harry’s heart was delighted to see her now. “Fuck, Mione, it’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” They broke apart and Hermione frowned. She got a better look around Harry’s house. “Geez, I thought Blaise was exaggerating, but you really are a mess.”

Harry automatically puffed up his chest, his usual bravado coming back. He’d spent so much of his life putting on a brave face for her and Ron that it was like a second nature to him.

“Just having a bad week, is all. I hope you didn’t come all this way out here ‘cause Blaise’s telling tales. Ron would whine if I stole you away for nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Harry.” Hermione walked past him and took over Blaise’s seat on the bench. “You need me. That’s never nothing.”

Great. More talking. Just what his hung-over self needed.

Resigned, Harry followed his best friend and flopped back onto the bench. He really wished he hadn’t finished the ale off already.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but I’m fine. Seriously. You didn’t need to come here.”

“Who else is going to talk sense into you? Apparently you’ve been ignoring Blaise and, from what he's told me, I think he’s right.”

Harry grew pale. What exactly had Blaise told Hermione? Surely he’d mentioned Draco, but had he brought up Lucius? Harry hadn’t wanted Hermione to find out about this at all, and certainly not before it was over. He would have tried to talk Harry out of it, even though Hermione deserved to taste this revenge.

“Listen, Hermione—”

“No, Harry, _you_ listen.” Steeling himself with a deep breath, Hermione continued. “Yes, Lucius used me and abandoned me for fun and, yes, that sucked. But it’s in the past. I’m over it. I’m happy with my life. As bad as things were in Slytherin for me, I wouldn’t undo any of it now if I had the chance. I needed for it to happen to have Ron come back into my life. He’s worth it to me and if I’m able to put what Lucius did behind me, then you need to let it go.”

“But—”

“You love him. This Draco. You love him, right?”

Harry looked away but nodded. Even if he hadn’t admitted it, his current misery made it clear enough.

“You love him, and you pushed him away. You played with his heart for your own amusement. How is that not as bad as what Lucius did?”

The worst part was that Hermione was right. Harry had prayed upon the man’s hope and affection, purposely used him with no regard for his feelings, and then abandoned him like he was nothing. He was in every way like Lucius. Except that he loved Draco, and he’d done it anyways.

There was no defending what he’d done so Harry didn’t bother.

“I’m such an idiot.”

“I mean, I’ve been saying it for years but—”

Harry aimed a poorly aimed punch towards his best friend’s face. “Shut up.”

Hermione dodged and was quick to retaliate. “You missed.”

Harry ignored her, rubbing his bruising shoulder. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“No way,” Hermione replied sarcastically. “Blaise is waiting for you to give the word. They’ll help you find Draco and, maybe if you grovel enough, he might take you back.” 

Harry grimaced. “And if he doesn’t want to come back?”

“Then at least you tried and you won't spend the rest of your life wondering if you’re both miserable for no reason.”

“Yeah… yeah okay. Tell Blaise to get everyone ready. We sail in an hour.”

* * *

Harry had few, if any, leads to go on. As soon as Draco left the house, he’d made his way to the port and took the first boat leaving Gryffindor. The ship had headed south for trade; Slytherin was south, and Harry figured Lucius’s house was as good a place as any to start.

None of the crew complained about the brutal pace Harry set for him, and none bothered Harry. There were no words of comfort or encouragement, nothing but simply the task at hand: find Draco and bring him home. The winds were with them and they were steady on the oars, making three days worth of travel in two. As Slytherin appeared on the horizon, Harry wondered what he’d find.

What if Draco wasn’t even there? What if he was too late? What if Lucius had taken his anger out on him—

 _Don’t think about it,_ he scolded himself. _One problem at a time._

The village clearly remembered their last visit; though they hadn’t taken much aside from Draco, they’d wreaked havoc looking for him. As soon as they saw the Viking sails approaching, they all scattered. By the time they stepped ashore, not a single person was in sight. They stalked through the village and Harry felt eyes on him— certainly, they were being watched from each home and building they passed.

It didn’t matter though. 

Harry wasn’t here for them. As long as they didn’t stand in his way, they could keep their lives and their meager possessions. 

Being back in the Slytherin looking for Draco brought on a strange sense of deja vu, but the circumstances couldn’t be any more different. Harry wasn’t cocky and excited to get his plan underway. This time, Harry was a bundle of raw nerves— anxious to see Draco, get out of this godforsaken village, and never think of it or its people ever again.

Harry’s right hand tightened around his ax, his left arm keeping the shield raised. No matter how docile these people appeared right now as they cowered inside, Harry wasn’t going to let anyone get the jump on him.

Not a single soul, human or dog or bird, crossed their path. Not a single sound other than the wind and their own footsteps accompanied theri short trip to the heart of the village. There was a whole lot of nothing as they approached Lucius’s keep. 

The gates were half-open, which was a bad sign.

It was a good way to get an arrow through your belly if you walked into a trap so obviously out. Hiding behind his shield, Harry tried to look inside. The place looked abandoned, at least from this vantage point, so he took a chance and pushed the gate father open.

The courtyard was empty. It looked like the guards had left in a rush. The stables were open, lone horses wandering around the stalls adn nosing at stray straws of hay. The big wooden doors of the house were ajar, further invitation was inside.

Harry shared a look with Blaise, who shrugged. Harry then motioned for the rest of his men to spread out and search the rest of the keep while he, Blaise, and Dean approached the main door. Just as they were about to barge in, the door burst open and out ran a man loaded down with loot. Too late he noticed Harry and his men and tried to run back inside, but two strides and Blaise had him forced to the ground.

“Please don’t hurt me! I didn’t— It wasn’t— I never laid a hand on the boy, I swear!”

“Best start speaking sense,” Blaise said as he tilted the man’s head back, forcing him to look Harry in the eyes and expose his neck. “Draco the boy you’re talking about?”

“Yes—” 

“He hurt?” Harry had his ax ready to swing if he didn’t like the answer he heard.

“Please. I was just following orders. I wasn’t even with the men who brought him back!”

Blaise yanked his hair and the man yelled. “I told you to speak some sense. What happened?”

“Lucius— he sent out some men to find his son and bring him back. Not just his regular muscle, but mercenaries. Some of them found him in some village a few days ago. Tried to bring him back, but he didn’t want to come. He killed one of them, injured another, and they didn’t take too kindly to it. They had to rough him up a bit to do it.”

“But he’s alive?” Harry demanded. “And he’s okay?”

“Bruises, a black eye… nothing permanent. He’s lucky it was Lucius’s own men who found him and npt the mercenaries. They’d have him killed for sure or such treatment.”

Thank the gods Draco was alright. And… he’d apparently killed one of Lucius’s goons, which was all sorts of impressive for a man who’d never handled a blade a year ago. With enough training and encouragement, Draco might make a decent Viking someday.

Focus. Rescue Draco first and then you can plan out your happily-ever-after.

Harry shook his head to clear it. “Where’s he?”

“Where’s everyone?” Blaise added. “Man of Lucius’s means, no way he’s only got you to guard this palace.”

“Word came that your ship was spotted. We’ve heard enough tales of Harry the Heartless and how you earned that name. If you’re that cruel to men who’ve done you no personal grievance, what would you do to us who hold your beau captive?”

“You aren’t wrong. Draco. Where is he?”

“Inside the great hall. Lucius keeps him chained up in there like a dog. ”

Harry nodded to Blaise, and he let the man do. He rubbed at his scalp and looked fearfully between Harry and Blaise. 

“Anyone else around or just looters like you?”

“There might be some servants, but no one has any skill with a blade.”

“Alright.” Harry grabbed the man’s dagger and stuck it into his boot alongside his own. Then he jerked his head towards the gate. “Take your spoils and get out.”

“... Really?” The man cowered as though he feared the moment he turned his back, they’d kill him for sport.

“You lay a hand on Draco?”

“No?”

“That's a question?”

“No! No, I never touched him! I… I guard the door, I’m not—”

“Shut up. Don’t care. Leave before I change my mind.”

Not needing to be told again, he picked up his sack and fled. Good riddance.

The second they entered the great hall, a spear rooted itself near Harry’s head. He raised an eyebrow, impressed by the show of strength but surprised that it would’ve missed its mark so widely.

“Harry.”

His blood ran cold.

Harry snapped his attention to the other end of the hall. He sat on a chair, raised up on a platform as though it were a throne, and watched idly as Harry crossed the distance between them.

Lucius Malfoy in the flesh.

It’d been years since Harry had seen him in person, but he’d recognize those cold, dead eyes anywhere. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting my keep? Didn’t think you and I were on friendly terms since then business with Mione.”

“It’s Hermione, bastard. You don’t get to call him that.”

“I seem to recall that she didn't mind it much.”

“Well, I don’t care. I’m not here for that. Where’s Ray?”

It physically sickened him to have to even speak to this vile excuse for a man, but Harry was more than willing to put up with these attempts to get under his skin. Because he wasn’t here for Hermione. He wasn’t here for revenge. He was here to save _Draco_.

“Ray? I don’t think I know anyone named Ray. Had a son named Draco up until a few months ago until the bitch ran away with Viking scum and threw our good name to the dirt. I do have a puppy though. Maybe you mean him?” Lucius reached for a chain at his side and jerked it.

Draco toppled over from where he’d been hidden behind Lucius’s chair. 

His hair was matted with filth and his clothes were torn and soiled beyond repair. Chains bound his legs and hands, a gag kept him from talking, and he looked like he’d missed a few meals, but it was definitely Draco. The promised black eye and bruises marred his skin, but he looked unhurt otherwise. Which was good. Harry would hate to have to track down that cowardly scum and kill him for having lied.

“Ray, you okay?”

The boy didn’t even look at Harry. He simply continued to glare murder at his father. Not that Harry blamed him for the cold treatment, not after the way they’d parted.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Ray. I’ll get you out of here. We’re going home.”

At that, Draco’s head whipped around. He stared at Harry.

“Well. As touching as this reunion is,” Luycius said as he rose to his feet. The chain slipped from his fingers and now Harry could see it was bolted right to the armrest of Lucius’s mock-throne. “I’m going to have to cut it short. Draco isn’t going anywhere. My ward has been nothing if not a pain since my late wife died and, after all the trouble he’s caused me lately, I’m not about to let him out of my sight. Not until I’ve taught him his place. Make sure he’s good and obedient for his next wife. Once I find someone who will take his defiled little—”

“You think I care?” Lucius’s jaw clicked audibly as he shut it. Harry doubted the man had ever had to deal with such rude behaviour in his life. Good. The man deserved to be knocked down a few pegs. “About any of the bulls that you’ve got planned, that is? Let me tell you something, you pompous insect. This ends in one way: me and Ray walking out here ang going home. There’s no version of this story where you come out ahead. Actually, I’m not even sure there’s a version where you come out alive so don’t press your luck trying to make demands. So, why don’t you give me the keys to those chains and maybe start groveling at my feet. Then maybe I’ll care about what you have to say.”

Lucius’s face was bright red. His mouth moved uselessly as he struggled to find the words for his rage. “You insignificant brat. You come into my home and you think you can—”

“Dean?” Harry called, not even bothering to glance behind him to make sure he’s ready. “Shoot him.”

“What—”

The air snapped as a cross bolt was loosened. It whizzed by Harry before there was a telltale sign of metal slicing through flesh. Lucius stared down at the feathered end of the bolt, grasping at it with feeble hands before sinking to the ground and gasping. He drew shallow breaths, each was an ordeal.

“Should’ve groveled,” Harry said as he kneeled beside him. 

As much as he wanted the man to suffer through the slow agony of dying from his injuries, a much larger part of Harry wanted this to be over with. He grabbed a dagger and slit the man’s throat in one deep cut. Before the light had even left Lucius’s eyes, Harry had grabbed the ring of keys around his belt and was gone. 

He’d thought Lucius’ death would be more satisfying than this but he didn't care much. It was certainly a more just revenge than he’d hoped to deliver, one he was looking forward to telling Hermione about, but his priorities had shifted since he’d first started plotting.

Now he had a young man to finish rescuing.

Harry was vaguely aware of Blaise and Ron wandering off to check in with the rest of the crew (no doubt to pursue the village for any valuables), but he only had eyes for Draco.

The gag was first; the chains were second. Harry sat there beside Draco, kneading the red, angry marks left by the chains and pointedly avoiding eye contact. Draco didn’t pull away, which was something, but Harry was terrified to speak up and possibly ruin ever being with Draco again.

“You came for me,” Draco whispered uncertainly. “You… you actually… I thought…”

Harry looked up. “Of course I came for you.”

He saw nothing but disbelief in Draco’s eyes, adn Harry growled in frustration. Yeah, he deserved it, but it still stung.

“Draco, I’m so sorry. I should’ve never even… I’ve known for a while I’m in love with you. I just didn’t want to believe it. But you’re it for me. You’re amazing, and I don’t deserve you. I’ll _never_ deserve you, but I’ll try. I’ll try every day. If you forgive me for how awful I’ve been, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please, Draco.”

“The rest of your life, huh?”

“I swear it. On anything. My house, my ship, my life, my heart— any sign of fealty I can give—”

“It’ll take more than words, Harry.”

“I’ll show you too, if you let me.” Harry looked into Draco’s eyes, searching for anything he would let him see. “You have but to ask and I’ll do it.” 

“Hmm…” Draco made a show of considering what to ask for. “Kiss me.”

Harry’s heart was practically leaping out of his chest as he leaned forwards. He stroked Draco’s cheek, smearing the dirt there. Their lips met tentatively, unsure of each other for the first time since they’d been together, but it slowly melted into something familiar and reassuring. Draco was alive and unhurt. Lucius couldn’t him or Hermione or _anyone_ anymore. And… best of all, Harry was going to spend the rest of his life taking care of Draco.

“Anything else?” Harry asked when they pulled apart, noses touching and foreheads resting against each other.

“Hold me.”

Already wrapping his arms around Draco, Harry kissed his temple. “Done.”

They stayed like that for a moment. Draco was practically in his lap and nearly suffocating him with a vice-like grip, but Harry could think of nowhere he’d rather be.

“Anything else?”

Draco sighed and nodded. Harry waited patiently for him to answer.

“Take me home.”

Joy flooded through him.

Things weren’t fixed— not by a long shot— but they’d get there. Harry had faith.

“Sure thing, Ray. Let’s go home.”


End file.
